Can You Make It Feel Like Home (If I Tell You You're Mine)
by berrywarbler
Summary: You rarely see the same stranger in New York more than once. It's even less often that they wind up becoming your whole world.


Quite a few notes before we begin: This was originally inspired by the wonderful klaine fic, 'The Muse' by cimmerians. I've asked them to make sure they were okay with me borrowing elements of the plot, and it was a-okay. That being stated, this fic revolves around the (consensual) relationship between a 17 year old girl and a 27/28 year old man, sexual or otherwise. If that bothers you, please don't read. Third of all, I'd like to thank Kira for all her wonderful help for this. I've been toying with it on and off for the past year, and without her this would have been stuck after a few careless scenes and gotten nowhere.

As of right now, I am planning to write a second part to this - it won't be nearly as long, but the story doesn't quite feel complete to me just yet. Seeing as my writing hasn't been cooperative for the past ten months or so, however, it may be awhile.

Thank you, as always, for reading. Constructive feedback is always welcome, and I'd love to hear anything you have to say! ❤

* * *

It's nothing more than just a flash of plaid catching his eye, long tan legs disappearing into the busy crowd, long brunette locks falling over shoulders clad in a white button up shirt. A schoolgirl, undoubtedly skipping her afternoon classes from one of the many private schools that littered the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

A girl much too young for him, Blaine knows.

Her head turns, eyes scanning the crowd as if to find someone but instead they lock with his, a mischievous smile on her face before she's gone, and Blaine regrets not having his camera on him. He _always_ has a camera on him, even if it's only one of the cheap ones every girl uses to litter her facebook with mirror pictures of herself with, and now he's missed his chance anyways.

The girl's gone, disappeared, surely for good, lost in the bustling metropolis and leaving Blaine with nothing more than a minute memory, sure to leave just as quickly as she has.

-:-

She's wearing jeans the next time he see's her, the long legs he has practically leered at before encased in denim and all he wants is to make her pause so he can just snap one or two shots of the tan skin, practically glittering in the sunlight, just barely visible over the waistband, exposed from her raised navy cardigan. Instead, Blaine can't seem to move, feet glued to the ground beneath him.

You never see the same person twice in this city, it's both what he loves and hates about it, but he knows it's the same girl. Even if her hair is up in a high ponytail, her bubble gum tongue between her teeth as she stands in line at one of the many newsstands that litter the sidewalk, purchasing a water; he knows it's her.

By the time he reaches the end of the block, however, she's gone again.

-:-

"You're not exactly subtle," a voice sings from behind him as he stands over the choices of beer in a Duane Reade, trying to figure out which best suits his taste for the night.

He turns slightly before his eyes go comically wide, the girl he became convinced he has made up standing next to him, short green sun dress on and her hair full of wild curls that he finds himself wanting to run his fingers through.

He snaps himself into attention once more, raising an eyebrow and taking in the features he's always been too far away to see. Chocolate eyes, full pink lips and a nose that might seem excessive on others but works for her. "How do you mean?"

"I've seen you," she tells him, staring him dead in the eye before continuing with a bluntness that almost knocks him off guard, "staring at me."

He doesn't know how to answer that, except it's only been the two times he's seen her before now, so that seems highly illogical that she'd notice him.

"I'm a photographer," he says by way of explanation. "I tend to notice aesthetically pleasing beauty and, yes, stare at it longer than I should."

"I didn't say I minded."

He can't help but laugh a little at that, because he's starting to realize just how forward this girl is. "A girl of your age probably should," he tells her before grabbing a pack of Corona; at this point he just needs a drink so he can stop thinking about the way her dress clings to her hips and how tight it is across her chest.

"Just how old do you think I am?" she inquires, and Blaine swallows thickly as he realizes that she's moved towards him.

"No older than 18." He tries to say it in his normal tone, but it comes out slightly choked with maybe the hint of regret underneath, and she nods.

"Just turned 17 a few months ago."

17. A child, practically. It's only been 10 years since he is 17 and it never seemed like that long ago until right now.

"You should be careful," he warns her, "someone will try and take advantage of your beauty if you keep talking to strangers in the drug store."

"But not you," she points out, her tone even and his tongue darts across his lower lip, because he wants to. Wants to take advantage of the girl far too young for him, to taste her tan skin on his lips and to set her up in his studio until he runs the battery out on every camera he has, fill them with nothing but pictures of her.

"But not me."

He turns to leave, knowing himself and his resistance and she seems to know her time is up, brushing past him, too close for comfort, winking as she walks away.

"Until next time."

Manhattan suddenly feels even smaller than it ever has before.

-:-

It's another two weeks to the day until he finds her again; not that he's counting the passing time or actively searching for her.

She's wearing a black skirt this time with her soft pink button down shirt. He can see the faint hint of a neon blue bra underneath if he looks hard enough, but he tries not to.

"I know who you are, you know," she says as she joins him in line at Starbucks. He's a little apprehensive about the crowd around them, but he's honestly taken aback. He's not famous by any means, his notoriety mostly within small clusters of people that definitely don't include a 17 year old girl whose lips look so damn kissable he almost gives into the urge.

"Oh?" he voices instead, and she nods.

"Blaine Anderson. You were the one who shot that one independent film on teenage runaways. You do most of the photos for magazines like Vogue, Cosmo and Vanity Fair."

He's impressed, he has to admit, if not cautious.

Mostly.

"Well, if you know so much about me you should at least tell me your name."

Her glance is calculating, as if sizing him up, and he can't really blame her. What self-respecting 27 year old even allows themselves around what can literally only be described as jail bait, much less inquires more about them.

"Rachel," she finally says. "Rachel Berry."

The way her voice seems cautious makes him nervous, as if she has a reason to lie, but as she cuts in front of him to order her beverage she says the same name-"Rachel". She gives a friendly smile to the college boy taking her order, and while Blaine hardly knows the her and has absolutely no idea who the boy is, he's almost envious of the attention.

They don't talk again until they're on the streets, coffees in hand and he realizes it's the middle of the afternoon when he shoots her a questioning glance.

"School and I don't get on," she says, seeming to know what he wants to know.

"Why not?" He's genuinely curious, especially when her eyes darken and she shakes her head, a solid 'no'.

"I don't spill my story to anyone," she responds in a colder tone than her normal almost honey like voice, and he stares down at her for a minute, transfixed by the way she crosses her arms over her chest, holding her own against him and the way the sun's reflecting off her hair makes him yearn for his camera once more.

"Well, since you're not in school, would you be horribly offended if I asked you to come model for me?"

He feels awkward at his own words, propositioning a 17 year old girl back to his apartment in Brooklyn, but he reassures himself with the knowledge that it's all business. All he wants is to photograph her.

"Now?" She asks, her voice skeptical and he nods, not sure if he should tell her or himself to run far, far away from the situation. It takes her a minute, but she nods, smile back in place. "Lead the way."

-:-

She's quiet as he leads her into his loft; as much as he enjoys Manhattan, Brooklyn has more space, his apartment big enough for a studio to shoot in during what free time he has.

"You can take a few minutes to relax," he offered, "get a water or something from the fridge. I'll just set up in there." She glances at the door he points to, and he's satisfied for the time being before entering his work room.

It's big and bright with huge windows, and all Blaine can picture as he plucks the camera he wants off the shelf is just how the sunlight will hit her luscious curls and show off the tiny hints of gold hidden beneath all the dark brown, how it'll make her skin deeper than it already is, how if he can get her to smile naturally for him it'll light up the room even more.

She comes in as he's moving a sofa over, moving it away from the windows and she waits quietly for her cue. He gives it to her a moment later, asking her to stand in front of the windows and it isn't until she's halfway across the room that he notices her unbuttoning her top, mild panic settling in.

"You can, um, you know, keep your clothes on. It's not going to be _that_ kind of a shoot." He's bright red, and it only deepens as she looks over at him with a coy smile.

"I figured it is the most legal way for you to see me undress," she teases, and he has to close his eyes at the statement because there is no question about if he wants to see the flesh hidden away by the thin blouse, but she's still only 17 and he still refuses to cross that line.

He lets out a puff of air that's supposed to be a laugh as she rebuttons the ones she's undone, feeling slightly more in control of himself once her skin is hidden away.

"The most important thing," he tells her as he adjusts her slightly, hands lightly moving her waist until she's tilted the right way for him, brushing a strand of hair off her neck and pushing it behind her shoulders. Her eyes are wide, wider than he would have expected and he briefly wonders how much of her confidence is merely an act. "Is that you act natural. You've got the beauty, don't push it out there."

Rachel nods, a faint pink tinting her face for a moment and Blaine grabs his camera and captures it before she can understand what's going on.

She's quiet for a few moments while he works, moving around her - the view of the river outside the window in focus while the crook of her shoulder is in the foreground, a small smile lifting the corners of her lips as he moves away to capture all of her - but it seems she only has so much patience.

"Why photography?"

He's been asked that so many times in his life he's lost count, his tongue between his teeth as he kneels on the ground and snaps one of her looking out the window, arms around her own waist.

"I like being in control," he says, not missing the arch of her eyebrow and slight smirk that appears. "And I love art. I can't write for shit, and drawing or painting of any kind above stick figures doesn't work well for me. But photography - anyone can pick up a camera and take a picture of a beautiful girl. You have to be talented to let it tell a story."

"And you think you do that?"

"I hope so," he tells her honestly. "It's harder with models and fashion shows, but it's what pays the bills and gives me something to do between projects."

"I bet the hot girls in underwear makes it worth it," she grins, and he laughs, pressing down on her shoulders to make her relax.

"They're stiff," he answers, "they don't ever let free; because they're not supposed to. I don't get inspired by it."

Her next sentence is halted by the soft meow and arrival of Blaine's only pet, aptly named Cat and all the illusions of Rachel being the sophisticated, older persona she's worked so hard to show to him is broken as she kneels on the floor to pet him, her eyes wide and innocent. She looks 17 for the first time to him, his camera clicking away as she picks Cat up and pets him with a smile.

"What's his name?" She asks, looking up at Blaine and it's almost like his heart aches with how sweet she sounds, innocence and childhood written across her features as his camera snaps once more.

"Cat."

"Like _Breakfast at Tiffany's_?"

"Like _Breakfast at Tiffany's_."

-:-

She sits quietly on the sofa as he uploads the photos, importing them onto the computer quickly so he doesn't accidentally delete any. He'll go through them later, when he's alone and can focus on lines and colors and lighting, but he's pleased with what he managed to capture for now.

"Are you hungry?" he asks as he spins around in his chair, smiling to himself as he finds Rachel curled up with Cat, her long elegant fingers petting him.

"I didn't know models got offered such hospitality," she quips, and all he can do is chuckle as he stands up, stretching his arms and he notices her watching his every move.

"I didn't say I could cook," he assures her with a small laugh. "But - pizza, chinese, any sort of take out-your choice."

She gives him the same look she did when he asked for her name, like she's not quite sure what he wants from her, and he supposes it's a reasonable glare. He is, after all, a little too distracted from the way she's allowing Cat to knead into her stomach, her skirt higher up on her thighs than most people would find decent and he can't help but imagine what it'd be like if his fingers were pressed against the tan skin, teasing her to see how long it took to drive her wild.

"Pizza's good," she says after a moment, rolling off her side and onto her back, Cat curling up comfortably on her flat stomach and Blaine can hear the purring from his spot across the room.

_Lucky_, Blaine can't help but think.

-:-

Rachel picks at her food, sitting on his counter with her legs crossed so she doesn't flash him - though he thinks she might do so anyways, the way her eyes keep moving across him. He feels like a teenager himself, if he's honest; the room seems to have some current moving through them, a static electricity around them from her casual smirks and the way she leans over just enough so that her shirt rises as she reaches for her soda. It makes him yearn for her in a way he won't allow, not until he's in the shower with his own hand wrapped around himself to get rid of the tension.

Her words startle him from the images he's already prepared to be faced with, nearly startling him and he's glad he's simply leaning against the counters and not sitting on them or he would have fallen over.

"So am I your new project?" she asks after a couple pieces, Blaine having already devoured half the pizza as it is.

"That depends," he responds. "I'm going to have to look through everything I have from today but - yes. If you're willing, I'd like to use you as a model again."

"Was I that inspiring?" she taunts from her spot across the small kitchen, a lift in her eyebrow and a devilish grin that makes something coil deep inside of him.

"Something like that," he murmurs quietly. "I'll pay you, obviously - I don't know what would be easier for you, or what your parents would or would not notice or if they'd dis-"

"I don't live with my parents," she says quickly, her expression panicked for a moment before it falls back into her normally cool façade. He pauses at her words, something about them not adding up in his head.

"You're 17," he says evenly, "but you don't live with your parents or go to school."

Her responding glare is all the answer he needs, and suddenly the obvious slams into him.

_You shot that documentary about runaways._

"You ran away."

Her panic is apparent as she slides off the counter, clearly attempting to flee but he simply grabs her arm, sighing heavily. "I'm not - Rachel, please calm down."

It takes her a few minutes before she can breathe once more, her eyes once more cautious and her arms wrapped tight around herself, once more looking like the 17 year old she actually is instead of the enticing young woman she demonstrates so well most of the time, and he has to sit her down and makes her some tea before he starts questioning her further.

She thanks him for the mug, staring down at it with her teeth worrying on the pink skin of her lips, sliding tracks through her shiny lip gloss and he fights the urge to pull her lip out from between her teeth.

Instead, he asks the first question that comes to mind.

"Why?"

She doesn't answer him, and it becomes apparent that she's not going to after a few minutes of silence, Blaine huffing quietly in indignation.

"Fine, so you won't answer the why. What about the basics - where are you living, Rachel?" It suddenly strikes him again, how she has seemed so hesitant to give him her name, but he has figured it is just her way of making sure he isn't a pedophile, attempting to lure her into a trap of some sort. "Is Rachel Berry even your real name?"

"Yes," she says quickly, looking a little sick to her stomach. "Please, I won't ask much of you but - don't report me in. I'd rather stay gone than be dragged back."

There's a hint of terror in her eyes, like he might research her and turn her into whatever county is looking for her, but he doesn't think he has it in him to do it anyways.

"I won't," he promises. "As long as you tell me where you're staying and let me give you my number, in case anything happens to you."

"You don't have to look out for me," she snaps, her moods seeming to change every time he opens his mouth. "I'm quite capable of looking out for myself. I've been doing it for a year already."

"Everyone needs someone looking out for them," he tells her, scribbling his number on a piece of loose paper left over from his various notes to himself on the table. "And I don't care what it is or what time of day it is - you may be a tough girl, Rachel, but that's all you are - a girl. I told you that one day someone is going to take advantage of you, and I'd hate to let that happen."

She stares at him silently but folds the paper and slides it into her purse anyways, Blaine at least appeased for the moment.

"I'm staying in a studio with a couple other girls and a gay boy," she finally whispers. "It's the only way any of us can afford it. The boy works in a bookstore, one of the girls in a clothing store and the other hasn't explicitly says anything, but we're pretty sure she's a stripper at one of those clubs in the seedy part of town."

"And you?" he asks, gently prodding for more because this does not sound like an ideal situation, and he can't help but think about the spare room he has for when Cooper or his parents come to visit.

"I just got to the city a couple months ago," she tells him. "I haven't found anything yet."

"Except for being my model," he grins, hoping it'll get her to smile and for a minute it does.

"Except for that."

-:-

He sits at his computer until his eyes start to feel like they're bleeding, the sun rising outside his window and countless cups of coffee surround him. Rachel's asleep on the couch behind him, Blaine insisting she stay if only because he asked; he's not sure why he needs her there so bad but he does.

She looks the picture of innocence, curled up on the couch in one of his borrowed tee's, sweats too long on her seemingly endless legs and cuffed at the bottom so that her feet are exposed. Her lips are parted, and in his exhausted state he can't help but stare blatantly at them.

They're pink, soft and succulent and Blaine's mind goes straight to thinking about how they'd look stretched around him, her brown eyes wide as she stares at him with the innocence she doesn't need to fake but tries to anyways. He groans slightly, trying to push the image away; he's just as bad as any other guy on the street, he thinks, even if he doesn't act on his impulses.

He only manages to tear himself away from her after silently snapping a few pictures of her sleeping form - he's not sure if he should show them to her or not, worried she'll think he's as creepy as he apparently is - ditching the camera on the floor before tripping down the hall and falling into his own bed.

-:-

She's gone when he wakes up.

He only knows this because the apartment feels too big, too quiet and far, far too empty. It's never felt that way before - even when Cooper visits with his giant personality overwhelming the place, he's always thought it is the perfect size for him.

But somehow without Rachel there, it's like there's too much of it.

He puts it to knowing a little bit more about her situation, though questions on how she's surviving and how she managed to make it to New York - or what drove her there in the first place - were being blatantly ignored. She didn't want to talk about it, and he didn't want to pressure her.

If he did, she might run, and he'd be left with some sort of weird nostalgia for a girl he barely knows.

He doesn't have her number, has no way to contact her and ask her to come over and so he tries to go about his normal routines, tries to ignore the nagging feeling that something isn't entirely right as he looks through the photos they has taken the day before and makes appointments with various fashion magazines that need him for work.

He's too antsy to truly focus though, and by the time dusk settles in he gives up even pretending he could be productive for the day and decides on a run. He normally prefers boxing; it works out his latent aggression and anger towards the world that he tries to ignore otherwise, but the waterfront is only a few blocks from his apartment and he thinks maybe watching the sun set over the Hudson while glancing across at the timeless portrait of the Manhattan skyline might soothe his nerves a little better.

He sits there until the mosquitoes came out in full force, the early beginnings of summer bringing them out in hoards as he watches the river float by and tries to clear his mind. It should be easier, now that he's older, to put aside the little things, the small grievances. He's been through more than enough in his life to warrant some quiet moments of peace, has been through hell and back and now -

Now he is somehow stuck to a girl who seemed to be going through even worse than he has.

He wants to know her story, wants to know where she is running from and why she pretended to be so much older than she is. More than his lustful desires, which were evident every time he glanced at her for a little too long, he wants to pick her apart, photograph her and tell her story before anyone else could. She has the personality that would take her far and he wants to be the first to document all the things she didn't want to say.

But it would end up on her terms, because she holds all the cards. She knows where he lives, has his phone number, and by the time he jogs back to his apartment he's somehow convinced himself that she would never use either ever again. He is too forward, with his light touches when he moved her to photograph her, for asking to photograph her, and yet when he opens the door he finds himself hardly surprised to see her curled up on his couch.

"You should find a better place to hide your spare key," she says to him as if it's a perfectly natural occurrence to wind up in some guys apartment when he isn't home.

"Clearly, if you've managed to deduct it's hiding spot within a day," he teases lightly, wiping off some of the sweat on his forehead and she just smirks from her spot before stretching out her legs - her long, gorgeous legs and he knows she does it on purpose, to torture him by taunting him with what he can't have. He just swallows, tearing his eyes away from her as she looks up at him. "I need to shower, but please - feel free to make yourself at home."

"I will," she promises, a bright smile on her face as she flounces into his kitchen and he chuckles lightly, watching her go before slipping into his shower.

He doesn't know what he's doing when his hand slides over his cock, fisting himself and he wants to think about anyone - the gorgeous models he sees on a near constant basis, the ones who flock to him after shoots to tell him what a great photographer he is and how they love working with him while they're stuffed into as little clothing as possible to still be considered a fashion shoot, the guy on his subway who always smiles warmly at him when it's too early in the morning, his best friend who's toppled into bed with him too many times to count. But instead it's the devious smile of the brunette rummaging through his pantry, the legs that stick out for miles underneath her short little shorts she's wearing and the swell of her breasts in the tank she's wearing, her tan skin underneath his fingertips and her mouth in a perfect circle as she comes from underneath his control until he's coming undone right there, in the shower like he's 16 again and he can't help but sigh heavily and lean against the shower wall, trying to rid himself of the images.

She's 17, he knows, which means she's far off limits and even if New York is one of the lax states where the age of consent made her legal by technical terms, he's 10 years her senior and, quite frankly, he should simply know better. He's never been one of those guys who needed to jerk off to the barely legal sites where girls claimed to still be 18, never passed by the private schools on the Upper East Side and once thought about what lay underneath their small plaid skirts. It's just Rachel, he knows, something about her hypnotizing and captivating and if he knows what's best for either of them, he would send her on her way immediately.

He's never done what's best for anyone.

"I made food," she offers once he finally walks into the kitchen, and he watches her cautiously - there's something off, something she probably won't tell him but he grabs her hand to make her pause anyways.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she says automatically, the 'fine' anyone tells someone when they don't want their privacy invaded; but to Rachel everything is private.

"You just let yourself into my apartment and made food because you decided a little breaking and entering would be a good way to pass the time?" he asks, though there's a smile tugging on the corner of his lips even as her eyes steel over into a glare.

"It wasn't breaking and entering," she snapped, "it was-"

"Did I give you a key?"

"Well, no, but-"

"Was I home to let you in?"

"You said if I needed anywhere to run to, I could come here," she retorts, her voice harsh but he can hear the sense of vulnerability behind her words and he brushes a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Relax, Rach," he tells her quietly, "I'm not upset. I'm only trying to make sure that there's nothing serious going on."

She glares at him before her gaze drops to the floor, her lower lip protruding for a moment as she takes a deep breath and he can tell she'd rather he not watch her, but he's drawn in anyways and pushes the hair behind her ear again as he tilts her chin up lightly, forcing her to look up at him. "What's happened, Rachel? Are you safe?"

She nods, a small laugh falling from her mouth as she wipes away a stray tear from her eye. "I'm fine, really. It's just -" she pauses, looking up at him with her tongue between her teeth as if she's debating what to tell him. "It's my dad's birthday today."

The look he gives her must have been pitying, because her eyes harden immediately and he regrets his instinctive facial expressions as she pulls away from him. "I'm sorry, Rachel," he promises, but she shakes her head.

"I can't make much, I never - I just made grilled cheese, because it's simple and I thought after a run you wouldn't want anything too heavy anyways."

Blaine knows she's changing the subject on purpose, but he doesn't press. Instead he says a quiet 'thank you' and takes the plate she hands him with a smile, offering her a water from the fridge before they sit down at the kitchen table.

She tries to talk about anything and everything but what's obviously upsetting her; asking him how the photos came out, telling him about some strange guy on the subway over from Manhattan. Anything light and temporary, nothing real that can settle in and shake her up like the general date seems to have.

And even though there's a sadness in her eyes, one that she can't push away despite her best efforts, he asks if they can try another session once they've finished eating. She hesitates only slightly before nodding, allowing herself to be his doll when they go into the studio and he molds her into the various positions he needs her in.

"What do you do on your dad's birthday?" she asks quietly after about twenty minutes, and he pauses, slightly, finger about to press down on the shutter when she asks him. She's not facing him, her head turned down and he presses the button before clearing his throat to answer her.

"Last year, Cooper - my older brother - and I, we took him out golfing. It's his favorite sport, though I've never seen the appeal in it at all," he admits; the only Anderson who didn't. Cooper enjoys the ability to look sporty without breaking a sweat, and his dad likes the silence and solitude but Blaine gets that from his photography. "The year before that, I wasn't here-I was at Cannes, for the runaway film. But Cooper has just moved to Los Angeles, so my parents went to visit him there. I don't think they did anything in particular, just dinner at a restaurant," he shrugs.

She turns to face him halfway through his explanation, Blaine's finger clicking the shutter once more at her half-bemused and half-pained expression.

"Are you sure you don't want to talk about it?" he says quietly, placing the camera down on the table and moving towards her to adjust the strap of her tank that's started falling down, to move the hair that's fallen out of her loose ponytail.

"There's nothing to talk about," she responds, but she doesn't sound as mean and defensive as she has earlier, and he thinks she might be close to breaking and letting him in, if only a little. She takes a deep breath, shaking her head as if she can't believe herself, a tear forming in the corner of her eye and he's entranced by the small droplet as she tries her hardest to stop it from falling.

"What happened, Rach?" She still refused to answer him, a frustrated sigh escaping him and he runs a hand through his hair. "Can't you just, call him? Tell him you miss him?" he suggests softly after a minute and she scoffs, standing from the stool he has her perched on and storms out of the room, muttering about how he didn't know anything at all and how he shouldn't pretend to know her.

But he wants to, wants to know her and wants to know what happened that she can't be with her dad on his birthday when she clearly wants to, more than Blaine ever wants to be around _his_ father, at least, but the door to his apartment slams closed and he knows she's gone, once more, and he's not sure when or if she'll ever come back.

It's a numbing feeling.

-:-

Every day that passes that she didn't show up worries him more.

They've only has four encounters, really, but there is some pull over him that she has that didn't let him rest. She is out there, in Manhattan with a stripper for a roommate who probably did god only knows what, and he can't even begin to fathom about what section of the city she is residing in.

He has half a mind to attempt to track her down, but he would only find dead ends everywhere. If she's smart, her name isn't on her lease, she doesn't need a license or a car living in the city, she doesn't go to school. The only way he could find her is if she's in the hospital, and after calling every single one in Manhattan to make sure there is no Rachel Berry in any of them, he heads up to his rooftop to try and breathe.

_I can take care of myself_, she told him, and he believed her. To an extent. Try as she might to believe otherwise, she did need someone on her side to watch out for her, make sure she didn't get hurt. She needed parents, really, but instead she was stuck with an overly attached 27 year old who could barely manage to care for himself.

Or, more likely, he got stuck with an incredibly stubborn 17 year old who seemed intent in making sure he never got an easy nights rest again.

Eight days later that he arrives home from a long afternoon of watching wafer thin girls parade around on a soundstage, giggling and having their hair fluffed as if that would show that they weighed more than 100 pounds a piece, smiling shallowly while they all shamelessly trying to hit on him. The fact that he always seemed to tell them he isn't available didn't make them stop any, and neither does telling them that he's gay. They're business climbers, hoping he has the right connection to land them somewhere else, and it leaves him feeling hollow and used, knowing that they don't really care about him beyond a shallow attraction.

He's still too young to feel quite so tired of the game every twentysomething plays.

Rachel's sitting on his couch again, drinking tea and watching something on the television and he drops his bag on the floor as soon as he sees her.

"Hi," she greets, waving lightly as she pulls a sweatshirt tighter around her and he realizes this is the most he'd ever seen her clothed, the thought doesn't offer him the comfort it should. She lived to show off, her appearance her defense mechanism, and he crosses his arms over his chest.

"You storm out of here and all I get is 'hi'?" he asks, a little hurt but mostly relieved that she seems to be intact and whole, and he can at least see the guilt cross her face for a moment before it disappears to wherever the rest of her emotions lay.

"I've been busy," she shrugs, as if that's the most explanation she can afford before she moves over on the couch, tapping the spot next to him. "I haven't watched TV in almost three years," she says once he begrudgingly joins her, her body moving slightly closer to him. "I don't think I've missed much."

"Probably not," Blaine replies with a small chuckle, picking up the water bottle from the coffee table and sipping from it. Rachel watches him and he realizes a second too late that it's her water, but she doesn't say anything about it as an all too familiar commercial tunes into the background. Blaine doesn't even _watch_ TV anymore, and he can sing along to the damn jingle. "Please turn it off," he groans quietly, hiding his head in his hands as Rachel glances back and forth between the television screen and him.

"Why? Do you have some sort of allergy against credit score rating companies?"

Blaine rolls his eyes, wiping his face with his hands as he glances up at where Cooper is still singing. "No," he says, waving to the screen. "But I try to avoid thinking about what my brother considers success as often as I can."

Her eyes open wide, staring at the screen even as it changes into an ad for Target, a small 'oh' falling out of her soft pink lips. "Your brother is an actor?"

"Tries to be," Blaine admits. "He's gotten mostly local work but - that is his big break. And I've has to hear him sing it every time I talk to him for almost a year now."

She giggles, the sound quiet and soft and feminine and it strikes right through his body as he turns his head slightly to look at her with one eye. "You're still the cuter Anderson," she promises, kissing his cheek before heading into the kitchen for her own water and his fingers graze the skin where her lips has just been for a moment, the spot marked with what feels like fire and ice as they run through his veins.

He makes sure to sit farther away from her when she returns.

-:-

She sticks around for longer this time. Their night of shooting goes on far too late for him to trust her on the subway on her own and she doesn't want to take his money for a cab, so he insists she stay in the spare room. She puts up a fight but gives in eventually, too tired to argue with him.

He lays in his own bed, thinking about how she's only a wall apart. How easily he could walk into the room, crawl in her bed, take her in his arms and how she'd probably be more than willing.

But he's worried it's one of her acts, her apparent attraction to him. A way to lure him in to keep herself safe while distancing herself as much as possible. A place to stay, warm food, safety. He wants to feel used, but he can only imagine what horrible things led her to being on her own at 16 years of age, how she'd survived the past year, and he's once more disgusted with himself for ever even thinking of what it'd be like to do anything more than platonic with her.

Blaine barely sleeps. He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Rachel to slip out in the middle of the night and his ears strain for the sound of soft footsteps and the front door closing. Instead, he opens the door of the guest room at only seven the next morning to see her curled under the comforter, looking at least like she's reasonably content for the time being.

It rests his heartbeat for a few minutes until he can pour enough caffeine in his system to substitute as a full night's sleep.

-:-

It happens again and again. Rachel would disappear for a day or two only to return, and every time she stayed she stuck around a little longer. After a month of it, Blaine felt ridiculous for hiding the key above the doorway - the most cliché spot in the world as it is - and simply put it on a keychain and handed it to her.

"I can't," she says in a shaky voice, eyes wide. "I can't just - I have my own apartment, Blaine."

"And yet you spend most nights here," Blaine retorts with a look just as pointed as her own. "I'm not saying 'move in', Rach. I'm saying you should be able to come and go as you please, legally."

She smiles a little at that, and Blaine rests easy that even if she disappears for another three days, she knows she's welcome at any point in time.

-:-

It's lonely when she's gone.

He has other friends, of course, he's not going to let himself become _that_ guy. Sebastian and Santana assume he's dating someone, and he just laughs them off when they're out drinking.

"Really, who is it?" Sebastian questions as Santana lets herself be lured away by a leggy blonde, just her type.

"I'm not seeing anyone," Blaine reiterates once more, feeling weary of repeating himself as he downs his third beer for the night.

"Come on, the only reason to ditch your friends this much is if you're scoring. And considering that you've been pretty much missing in action for almost a month and a half now? I'd have to say they're really fucking hot and pretty damn talented in between the sheets."

Blaine feels a blush crawl over his skin, because he is still fighting with himself every day for ever thinking like that. For imagining pushing her against the wall when she's leaning against it and sliding into her without a warning just to see her eyes roll back in her head; for imagining her crawling on her hands and knees towards him on the bed after her mouth worked him over; for imagining her on the edge of the kitchen counter, his face between her almost too tan thighs until she screams for him to stop.

"There's no one."

Sebastian scoffs, clearly not believing him before deciding on another tactic. "So," Sebastian drawls, shooting Blaine a smirk that he knows far too well from way too many drunken nights in college. "If there's no one else, you should have no problem letting me drag you home and having my way with you."

Blaine snorts, swatting away the hand that has been crawling up his thigh. "Just because I'm not seeing someone doesn't mean I'm going to fall into bed with you, Seb. I've learned that lesson far too many times."

"Ouch," he snaps, but there's a smile on his face as he orders them two more beers. "So, you really like them, don't you?"

Blaine shakes his head, taking his beer from the bartender and smirking in Sebastian's direction. "Thanks for the free beer," he whispers in his ear before he darts into the crowd to find Santana, hoping for some sort of mindless distraction.

-:-

Rachel hasn't been around for three days, but he's somehow surprised to see her curled up in a small ball on his couch when he stumbles in after several hours of taunting, drinking and dancing with his friends.

She looks small, too small, as if she's upset about something and he sobers up as best he can as he makes his way across the room.

"Rach?" he tries to keep his voice calm, but he knows the word is slurred and she peeks up at him from where she's hiding her face in a blanket, her eyes large and brown and watery and even though she's crying, he wants nothing more than to fall into them. He lets his thumb swipe away a tear as she blinks off more that threaten to fall out, his heart breaking at the sight. "What happened?"

"Can I stay here?' she asks quietly, and when he nods immediately, she shakes her head, her voice trembling as she corrects herself. "Like, for awhile."

"Of course," he says, because he'd feel better knowing she's safe anyways. She doesn't tell him what happened, right away, simply crawls into his lap as if she's looking for comfort that she doesn't know how else to get and he can feel her tears seeping through the fabric of his polo but he just blinks back some of his own, rubbing her back and placing gentle kisses on the top of her head.

She's still just a girl, young and broken and Blaine isn't whole enough himself to put her back together.

It feels like hours before she's calm again, her hands still wrapped in fists around his shirt and the start of a headache pounding at his temples as she takes steadying breathes. "You gonna tell me what happened?" he whispers, partially for himself but mostly for her, brushing stray curls out of her face and tucking them delicately behind her ears.

"I kind of have to, don't I?" she replies, a small sob choked back as she wipes the tears away from her face.

"You don't have to tell me anything, but it would be nice to know why you're sobbing on my couch at 3am on a Friday night."

She nods, offering him a small smile but it's completely out of place, his thumbs running over the turned up edges of her mouth until she sighs and leans slightly into his touch. "Do you remember how I said that I was pretty sure one of my roommates is a stripper?" she starts, her voice quiet and her eyes not meeting his own, instead focusing in on one of the buttons on his shirt as she slides it in and out of it's designated hole.

"Yes," he says, keeping his voice as even as possible, because he can already tell he won't like where this is heading.

"Well, pretty sure is code for the fact that I knows she is. And that she's also a coke head. And all of my roommates - they were older, only by a couple years but all over 18. Their names were all on the lease and I was paying more rent than any of them to keep it quiet that I was there so my name wouldn't have to go on it." She takes a deep breath, her palm lying flat over his chest where he's sure his heart is beating faster under her touch, but she continues on. "Sometimes, she gets a bad batch, or something, and she goes a little crazy. Normally I can hide away. I used to find someone to take me in for the night, but lately - I've been here."

The look on her face - of gratitude, of hope and earnest, it squeezes his heart tight as it thumbs against his ribcage underneath her fingertips as he nods, unable to say anything at all.

"But I kept feeling like I was being overbearing, or pushing my limits and I didn't want either. So when she started snorting yesterday, I figured I'd just hide away in my room until she was done. But she-" Rachel closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and his hands rest on her hips to keep her safe in his lap, his fingers tracing small circles in the skin exposed above the waist of her yoga pants. "She came after me. Started going on and on about things that I don't even know how she knows about-"

"The reasons you ran away," Blaine whispers, Rachel nodding as she blinks away a fresh round of tears.

"She started screaming at me, and she somehow found out my real name - I told them all I was Bethany Radley, something easy I could remember - and then she started coming after me with a knife and I just-I ran."

"Why didn't you call me?" he murmurs, squeezing her hips lightly as her own hand wraps around his neck, his skin prickling under her light graze.

"You were out. I didn't want to ruin your fun."

"You're more important than drinking with Sebastian and Santana," he reprimands, letting her burrow her face in his shoulder once more as she tries to collect herself. "You can't-you were in trouble, Rach, and if anything has happened to you," he fights off a shudder, unable to even imagine. He'd have no real way of knowing, no one to call and check on if she disappeared and the thought grips him with terror.

He's too attached, and Sebastian's words haunt him as she lets him wrap her up in his arms.

_You really like her, don't you?_

_Yes_, Blaine answers himself silently. _Yes, I do._

-:-

She sleeps next to him that night, pulling him into the guest bed with her when he tries to lay her there and he's too tired, too close to a hangover and trying to avoid the vague panic that's looming overhead to fight her off.

When he awakes, it's there. Front and center and it's a giant neon sign flashing in his eyes, yelling at him for how _stupid_ he's being.

He's 27 and he has a career and he has friends. His parents are distant, at best, his brother off being a star. His closest friends are still narcissistic and fucking anything that moves and he's somehow falling for a 17 year old girl who's too emotionally fucked up to realize that this isn't how things are supposed to go.

That she deserves better than what he can give her.

She whines quietly when he leaves, the bed colder without his presence next to her, he's sure, and he wants to slink away in shame, but he doesn't have anywhere to go anymore. He's invited her into his home and he's not about to back out on his word. Even if he has to work through this on his own, he won't send her out onto the streets or into harm's way.

Rachel finds him on the roof after a couple hours, Blaine staring off in the distance of the Williamsburg Bridge as she hands him a cup of coffee, the sleeves of one of his college shirts too long on her arms and rolled up a few times.

"We're going to have to get you some of your own stuff, aren't we?" he asks quietly, and she shrugs, resting her own mug on the edge of the roof as she looks over the Hudson with him.

"I grabbed some important things," she admits, "but I'm probably going to have to go buy new clothes soon."

"Let me take you," he offers quickly, blushing when she crooks an eyebrow. "Not- sorry, I just mean that I haven't paid you in awhile and you've been sitting for me still, so let me take you out. Spoil you a little," he grins, and a faint smile crosses her lips.

"You don't have to," she tells him, but he shakes his head, giving her shoulder a small squeeze before releasing any hold he has on her.

"I want to."

-:-

Rachel somehow managed to have her own small collection of clothing already left in the guest bedroom, which he'd now have to start referring to as 'Rachel's bedroom'. And while she'd grown more comfortable around him - wearing jeans, occasionally, sweats when it's late at night and not constantly torturing him with her short dresses and even shorter skirts - he can't help but feel like they'd reverted back to the beginning when she walks out in the plaid skirt he first saw her in.

"Ready?" she asks, beaming up at him and he hesitates before she slides her fingers in between his own, locking their hands together to lead him down the stairs. He knows that he should be more concerned than he is about people watching them, but he wants Rachel to have an entire day not overshadowed by the dark clouds constantly seeming to follow her.

He has no idea where she'd want to get clothes from, but he takes her into Manhattan regardless, a few sales people commenting on how nice it is that she has her older brother to take her out. She giggles at that, shooting him a wink before disappearing with stacks of clothing that seem to appear in her arms in an instant, Blaine leaning against a wall as she comes out to show him every enticing wardrobe item she's picked up.

The smile on her face and the small kiss she plants on his cheek is more than worth the money he drops on her; she finally looks like she might really be happy if only for a moment and he feels a surge of pride to know that he's done that for her. He lets her choose where they go to lunch and when they end up back in Brooklyn, she immediately sets to work at making the guest room her own.

"Thank you for everything," she tells him, wrapping her arms loosely around his waist as she looks up at him with a bright smile and for a second he can't breathe, he's so caught off guard by how comfortable she is with him and he can only gulp and nod, brushing the hair out of her face.

"Of course," he says with as easy a smile as he can conjure before she starts to walk away from him, the playful smirk on her face once more as she waves before closing her bedroom door.

-:-

Blaine has lived alone for six years.

As soon as he finished with college, he decided Brooklyn was a far more livable option than Manhattan. Sebastian bid him adieu with an ominous threat of bed bugs before moving in with Santana to a small loft in the Upper West Side while Blaine trekked across the bridge to Williamsburg, moving into a much smaller loft than the one he currently has.

Boyfriends and girlfriends, over the years, would stay overnight and even for a few weeks at a time during serious relationships, but they were gone before long, had careers of their own and friends outside of Rachel had taken to staying more often than not, living with her is a new breed of torture.

After they settled her in completely, buying her whatever she needed to make her feel at home - even some things she protested she didn't need but he insisted she did - she became far more comfortable. She sat in the living room at midnight watching reruns of shows she has never has the time or means to watch before, she made him coffee when she woke up before him and would disappear to the store to buy groceries for them when he was off at shoots for his magazines.

He starts keeping a camera within reach at all times, as well, something she allows once he cleared it with her. Her natural states were almost better for him than when she posed in his studio. Dark curls contrasting against the tan couch when she napped on one stormy afternoon striking even from across the room, the way her eyelashes fanned against her skin hypnotizing and he swore it was one of the best photographs he'd ever taken, though he felt creepy enough for doing so and refused to show it to her. The way she laughed as they made dinner together, sitting on the counter with a cup of water in her hands, the hot pink mismatched plastic ware he has left over from god only knows bright against her black blouse. Cat, curled up on her feet first thing in the morning as she stare out the window, silent as she lets her mind run free.

But there were moments when she'd take him by surprise, when he'd have to remember that he's still 10 years her senior. Walking into the bathroom without making sure no one else is in there isn't okay anymore; not when she might be in nothing more than what could only be considered _lingerie_ with all its black and lace and barely there existence, a coy smile on her face as she paused putting on her makeup to watch him fumble with closing the door and hiding himself away in his room. He couldn't even stop from fisting himself within minutes because there has just been too much skin exposed, the way her body has been leaning against the counter ingrained in his mind as he pictured being behind her, watching her expressions in the mirror as he took her hard and fast.

She never comments on those moments, though flashes of thigh far too high to be publically acceptable would sometimes greet him when she stretched out on the couch or stood on a stool to reach something in a higher cabinet. She takes some sort of pleasure in teasing him, he knows, and he has heard her own soft mewls coming from her room on more than one occasion. He tried his best to ignore those, did his best until he heard her mutter his name. He didn't stand a chance after that, the soft 'Blaine''s coming from her mouth on the other side of the door causing his jeans to feel too constricting around his thighs, his ear pressed against the door as he listens to her come undone to her own hand, pretending it was his own.

He wants it to be his own.

He feels like he's 17 again, masturbating as frequently as he is and with the addition of his even more confusing romantic feelings for her, he's reminded of being a teenager in high school who has no idea what they're doing. But he should have, should have known better than to ever think it's a good idea to close the distance that barely existed between them sometimes, that the thought should be nowhere near his brain, but living with her only added fuel to the fire in his imagination, finding himself in a semi-permanent state of arousal when she's around.

Rachel quickly falls back into her routine of confidence and cockiness, her strength that he knows she carried deep within her causing her to move on from the incident at her old apartment with no further explanation. She still won't tell him what led her away from home in the first place, but he isn't going to ask for it anymore. She'll come to him when she's ready, and he can wait patiently until then.

-:-

"Turn a little to the left, Rach," Blaine murmurs quietly, Rachel moving centimeters until he holds up his thumb for her to stop, a soft smile on her face. The June air is hot and heavy even in the dusk of the setting sun, the orange sky behind them setting off caramel hues in her hair that normally lay dormant that he just needs to catch. Normally, he could see the chocolate of her eyes as well, but she found a pair of heart shaped sunglasses at the corner store the last time she went and refused to take them off, calling herself 'Lolita' as she smirked at him with ruby red lips and a short summer dress.

He rolls his eyes at the reference, instead insisting that they should take advantage of the silent rooftop and try shooting up there for once. His collection of her is growing into an impressive size, and if she ever decided to go into modeling or acting she'd have plenty of shots to use from him for a portfolio. Her natural charisma transcends well onto the camera screen, small smiles and heated gazes saved forever with the snap of a button.

He places the camera down for a minute after getting a few more shots, propelling himself towards her to fix a stray hair that falls in front of her sunglasses, wrapping it behind her ear. She looks up at him, her legs crossed underneath her on the bench they've moved towards the edge of the rooftop so they could capture the sun setting on the Hudson behind her, and her soft pink bubblegum tongue runs across her bottom lip, capturing his attention. He wants to drag his own tongue across it, wants to taste the salt on her skin, and he's startled out of a reverie when she whispers quietly "You can, you know."

He shakes his head, expecting the moment to be broken but somehow the hushed words only amplify it all the more, the tension mounting in him as she raises her sunglasses and pushes back her hair with them, a coy smile on her face. "I want you to."

"I can't," he croaks, letting his thumb sweep gently over the tan skin on her cheek but she doesn't seem fazed in the least by his rejection, her eyes locked on his.

"I know you can't," she says quietly, "that's probably why I want it as badly as I do."

He wants to break, wants to lean forward and close the small amount of space between them but she lets out a soft laugh before he can, before he can take back all the 'no's' he's let out around her, ducking her head lightly. "I know that you think I've probably has to do horrible things for places to stay and money or whatever - most runaways do, after all." He wants to deny it, but the truth is he has no idea what to think about her past with no clues from her. "I've been lucky, Blaine. I've has a good sum of my own money before I left. I've never," she pauses, turning away from him to glance at the other buildings surrounding them, shaking her head. "I've never been with anyone, not like that," she whispers.

There's a lump in his throat, and he just nods as he closes his eyes, letting his forehead rest against hers until he can steady himself. He expected a lot of things to come out of her mouth, but not once did he expect her to admit to being a virgin. There's always the chance she's lying, he knows, but he trusts her. Implicitly. There's not a shadow of doubt in his mind that she's telling him the truth when it's just the two of them alone. It's why he believes that she's 17 and a runaway named Rachel Berry with an affinity for tea with honey and doesn't question her on all the things she won't talk about.

"I can't," he repeats, and his voice is hoarse because he wants to. He wants to carry her down to his bedroom and show her all the ways that she should be loved and touched and treated and show her just what it means to be with someone, but she's 17 and a virgin and he's supposed to be looking out for her.

"Whenever you're ready," she promises, kissing his cheek and undoubtedly leaving a lipstick mark before she's gone, leaving behind a scent laden with a flower he can't quite place and a heavy thought that he could still chase after her as she disappears into the building below, that she'd let him.

That she wants him to.

All he can find himself doing is watching the sun set and wondering what the right answer to an undefinable question is.

-:-

"It's your birthday?" are the first words he's greeted with one Saturday morning as she brings him a cup of coffee in his studio.

He glances at the calendar, slightly surprised to see the date. With everything going on with Rachel, he hasn't much been paying attention to specific dates, and truth be told his birthday is never an extravagant event anyways. "I suppose it is," he answers with a shrug, playing with the lighting on a photograph of a stick figure draped in the newest Calvin Klein for an ad he'd been commissioned for. "Wait, how did you know that?" he asks, swirling around in his chair to eye her. She's never been intrusive, letting his stuff be even though it _is_ technically her home now too.

"There's a voicemail on the answering machine," she says quietly, pointing towards the living room where his home phone is set up. "From your parents, I would presume, hoping that you're having a good 28th birthday."

The '28th' seems to weigh heavy in her words, but he chooses to ignore that. It's just more reason that he's glad he didn't act on his desires, though he hates himself a little more every day when he finds himself brushing her hair back or squeezing her hand, touching her in small ways just to get almost a fix of sorts.

"Oh," he replies, and she frowns a little even though he gives her his best smile.

"You didn't tell me," she finally says, her voice sounding a little hurt and despite the voice in his head screaming at him to stop, to back away, his hands somehow fall to her waist, her eyes opening wider in surprise as she looks up at him, but she doesn't back away.

"I didn't think about it, to be perfectly honest. But this explains why Sebastian keeps calling about a party tonight." He licks his lips, letting a curl wind around his finger as he stares at the dark hair before meeting her eyes once more. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Is that a good idea?" she asks quietly, and he knows what she's asking. He's been keeping her locked away, hidden her from his friends, his life, but he can't do that forever he knows. Eventually Santana will pop by for a drink before a night out or Sebastian will drop by just to annoy him, and they'll find out about Rachel anyways.

"I'd love it if you could be there," he tells her honestly. He'd rather they find out he has a 17 year old runaway living with him on his terms instead of theirs, and her smile is wide as she nods in agreement, darting out of the room to prepare herself even though it's just barely eleven in the morning, and he chuckles before trying to get back to work.

-:-

He stops dead in his tracks when he walks out of his bedroom later that night, trying to adjust the bowtie his brother bought for him for the previous Christmas. Rachel's simply leaning against the door, her red dress shorter than even he's used to and her hair curled delicately around her face, but he doesn't think he's ever seen anyone look quite as gorgeous as she does. He has half a mind to say 'fuck the party' and take her against the door, but her smile is innocent when she finally notices him.

"You clean up well, Anderson," she teases lightly, swatting his hand away so she can fix his bowtie for him and he can only gulp and nod in response, trying not to pay too much attention to how tight the dress is against her body, how he can see every curve outlined perfectly and how badly he wants to rest his hands on every single inch of her.

"New dress?" he chokes out, and she smirks when she catches his eye.

"I has to make sure I looked good for your birthday," she tells him, wrapping him in a quick hug long enough to render him speechless at the scent of her floral perfume once more, her hips lined with his before she's walking towards the door in her high heels once more. "I'll give you your present when we get back, but we're going to be late."

He laughs as best he can before following her down the stairs, leading her to a cab. He doesn't risk taking the subway with her wearing what she is, and if he's honest with himself he likes the way she sits a little too close to him despite the wide backseats.

She's quiet on the drive there, and it gives him time to panic about what he's doing. They didn't discuss exactly what they're telling people who she is or why she's there or anything of the sort, and Blaine has no idea how to go about it. He doesn't want her to lie, per say; but he's not sure how many of his friends and acquaintances will take him living with her, even if things have been as platonic as possible.

It turns out that he doesn't even really need to worry about it, Rachel blending in and looking far better than half the models milling about in the crowd; Sebastian no doubt stealing his contacts and inviting them for him and Santana to pick through. She disappears from his side in the direction of the bar with a wink only moments before Sebastian appears on his side, whistling low as he watches Rachel walk off.

"Well, if that's why you've been so quiet lately, I can't find any reason to blame you. I'd never want to leave the bedroom either."

"She's not _with_ me," Blaine says quietly, though his eyes are trailing her just as much as Sebastian's are, much to his dismay.

"Well, then if you'll excuse me," Sebastian grins, shooting off before Blaine can even stop him.

He argues with himself that Rachel's a big girl, that she's has plenty of experience handling herself and that she can certainly tell Sebastian to fuck the hell off, but he's slightly worried that she won't. That maybe it's not just _his_ attention that she wants, it's just attention. It's something that he knows most models crave, hence their chosen field of work, and even as he greets Cooper and thanks him for coming and listens to him go on and on about a new TV pilot he might be filming in Manhattan, his eyes float back to the bar more than they should.

Sebastian seems to get distracted by one of the other photographers Blaine knows, much more his type than Rachel would ever be, but her appearance seems to defy sexuality and Blaine knows that Sebastian's has more than his fair share of women as well and it does little to ease his mind.

Santana kisses his cheek and pulls lightly on his bowtie, asking him to say hello to the grandchildren in a snarky tone, never one to give up the chance to mock his sense of fashion, before disappearing and Blaine finally makes his way to the bar just as Sebastian seems to get to Rachel.

"20?" Blaine overhears Sebastian reply, glaring over when he notices Sebastian's hand on her leg, just above the knee. "I'd say you're barely over 18, but Blaine's one lucky man to have found you."

"I'm just lucky he's such a gentleman," she says with a smile, bright and innocent even as she twirls the straw of her fancy drink around.

"A gentleman?" Sebastian smirks, looking her up and down. "Surely not all of the time."

She laughs, blushing, and Blaine waves the bartender off when he tries to interrupt his blatant eavesdropping, missing whatever it is she tells Sebastian in response, but his stomach clenches tightly when he sees Seb move in closer, his hand trailing up her thigh and he almost sees red as Sebastian ducks his head to whisper something in her ear.

Her eyes open wide at whatever it is; Blaine can venture quite a few guesses that it's something horrendously offensive or incredibly dirty, depending on what route he thinks will get him inside of Rachel's short little dress faster; and she seems to notice Blaine for the first time as he watches them silently.

Her hands push Sebastian away slightly, turning her attention back to the man in front of her and her voice is too quiet for Blaine to really hear, but Sebastian's hands don't leave her legs even as she tries to turn away from him. Blaine's never wanted to punch Sebastian before - he has the potential to be a dick, of course, but he's pretty much been his best friend for almost 10 years now - but in that moment, Blaine's fists clench and he's not even aware of how quickly he moves towards them.

"Hi," Rachel breathes as he arrives with nothing more than a glare towards Sebastian, the thought _mine_ ringing through his head as his hand wraps around one of her wrists. He grabs onto her tightly only to drag her away, Rachel silently following even in her heels as he moves through the crowd with her in tow.

It isn't until they're outside in the warm summer air, waiting for a cab that Rachel finally speaks, her wrist wriggling in his grasp until he looks over at her where she's watching him cautiously, a curious expression on her face and he's glad he hasn't managed to actually get a drink in him as he pulls her to him, kissing her deep and hard and relishing in the way she gasps and opens her mouth for him.

"I thought you says you couldn't," she murmurs, her eyes searching his own and he's not sure for what, but he just shrugs helplessly, because he _didn't_ think he could, not outside of the realm of his imagination. But now that he's has even the smallest taste of her, he craves more, and as a cab pulls up to the curb he slides in immediately after her, dragging her close by the waist and it reminds him of his first summer alone in the city; young and stupid and too damn turned on by a girl in a short dress.

But this girl isn't some random he's picked up at a club Sebastian's dragged him into, this is Rachel who, he has to remember, hasn't done any of this before, something he'd never have guessed as her tongue slides expertly into his mouth, her fingers wrapped up tightly in his shirt as she draws him in closer to her. He lets his tongue drag along her bottom lip, tasting the strawberry lip gloss coating the soft pink skin and he can barely focus on anything but grabbing for as much skin as he can when the taxi pulls up in front of their apartment.

She giggles as they climb out, Blaine smirking as she tries to adjust the length of her dress down past her thighs but it doesn't work well and he simply slings an arm around her waist as they walk quickly into the building, getting as far as the elevator before he's lifting her up and grinding his hips into hers, kissing her neck and teasing the skin underneath her ear as she purrs in his own. It's even better than anything his imagination has ever provided for him, her skin warm as he holds onto the underside of her thighs and her heartbeat fast as he trails his tongue over it until the elevator dings to tell them they're on their floor.

He looks at the doors opening and taps her leg until she wraps them firmly around his waist, carrying her as quickly as he can to their door and she has to grab the key out of his pocket, her nails skimming the skin beneath the fabric as she drags them out with a smirk, before they can let themselves in.

They barely make it to the couch before his hands are pushing her dress up, anything to see the tan skin underneath and she shudders lightly in his arms as she unzips the side to let him rip it off of her completely, his mouth connecting to her shoulder and moving its way down as soon as he has her in nothing more than her matching red lace bra and thong, his hands moving to her ass to pull her into his lap as her breathing picks up.

In the back of his mind, he tries to remember not to move too fast, go too far, but her hips roll into his and his teeth sink into the swell of her breast at the simple action, eliciting a soft moan from her lips and all he can think about is hearing that noise again. He lets his tongue trail down her sternum, regretfully pulling away from her where he wants her the most, setting her on the couch and never taking his mouth off of her skin as he moves downwards, flicking his tongue inside her navel and watching her back arch slightly in surprise.

"What are you-"

"Shh," he tells her, cutting her off with a quick kiss as he lets a hand cup her heat, feeling how wet she is already through the flimsy fabric and she lets out a small whimper that lets him push it aside to touch her without a barrier. He watches as her eyes close, letting his mouth fall to her hip and biting lightly at the skin as he gently pushes a finger inside of her, her hips moving towards him. "I want to make _you_ feel good," he promises quietly, and she seems unsure of where to rest her hands as they grip the couch beneath her.

She squirms lightly underneath his touch as he continues to move his finger slowly inside of her, dragging it out just to slam it back inside of her, letting his lips graze the inside of her thigh and smirking at the light shudder that courses through her as she rests one hand on her stomach, squeezing the skin lightly as she watches him with wide eyes.

"Oh!" she exclaims when his tongue finds her clit, gently ghosting over it just once to test out her reaction, but her eyes are slightly hooded and dark with lust and it pushes him forward, letting his lips suck around the small nub as his fingers push even farther inside of her, an almost lewd moan falling from her lips as she drags her own hand up her torso, kneading at her breast without shame as she looks down at him. He has to close his own eyes at the sight for a minute, pressing his free hand against the front of his jeans to keep him from rutting against whatever surface he can find before he flattens his tongue and drags it down until it can replace his finger.

His fingers dig into the skin of her thighs as he parts them wider for himself, using nothing but his tongue to taste her, pushing it as deep inside of her as he can only to feel her walls clamp down on him as best they can, trying to get a firmer hold on it before he's withdrawing to circle her clit once more. Her hand wraps itself in his loose curls, and a growl escapes from deep in his chest at the action as he does what she's silently begging for, lips and tongue moving as best they can as her hips buck into his mouth, gasps and moans falling from her own before she's practically screaming his name, her back arched off the couch and he's never seen her more beautiful than mid-orgasm, her eyes rolling back as she chews harshly on her own lip. It only takes him sliding a hand inside his jeans and a few swift jerks before he's coming as well, resting his forehead against her thigh as she comes down from her high.

"Best," he says quietly, placing a small kiss on her hip, over a mark he can see brewing underneath the surface of her skin, "birthday,' he continues, dragging his tongue lightly between her breasts on his way up her body, "ever," he whispers, kissing her lightly and smiling as she lets out a small giggle.

"I feel selfish, having you take care of yourself like that," she replies, her eyes still hazy and dark as they look at him, Blaine shaking his head in disagreement.

"Trust me," he promises, kissing the top of her head before he's lifting her up to carry her to her own bed and smirking at her small squeal, "this is exactly what I wanted."

-:-

He wakes in a panic after only a few hours sleep, worried that she fled and hates him for taking advantage of her without her permission.

Instead, her head is resting on his chest as she sleeps, and he can see a smile on her face in the dim reflection from the mirror over her dresser. She looks happy and sated and it's _him_ she said she wants, him that's done that for her. He sweeps some of the dark locks over her shoulder and kisses the top of her head before letting sleep pull him back under.

-:-

"You know," she greets when he wakes up once more, her ponytail hypnotizing as it sways over her back for a second before she turns her head to face him. "I never got to give you your present."

"Don't want anything," he mumbles, hiding his face in a pillow and unsure of how, exactly, she's sitting on the edge of the bed perfectly dressed and ready for the day. "Except maybe you," he grins, popping open an eye to look her up and down.

She hits him with a pillow, but there's a blush on her skin and a smile on her face that lets him know that it's fine; that she's not panicking and running far, far away.

"That's too bad," she sings, her voice ringing like a soft melody he's never heard before, "because I found you something perfect."

He begrudgingly sits up when she demands it, rubbing his eyes and leaning back against the headboard as she moves to her closet and pulls out a small present back for him.

A small laugh erupts from his as he unwraps a bowtie covered in camera's, a nervous smile on her face before he leans forward to kiss it off her. It's slow and sweet and nothing like the feverent kisses from the night before, but it still simmers deep in his skin regardless.

"I saw your collection of bowties a couple weeks ago," she admits quietly, brushing a stray hair from her face. "And I saw this when I is getting my dress and I hope-"

"I love it," he interrupts, kissing her once more and she smiles before crawling into his lap, her hands tangling in his messy hair as she settles on top of him so that they can keep kissing.

He feels 17 again, only this time it's not as terrifying a concept.

-:-

"So, how about now?"

"What about now?" Blaine asks, holding the phone between his face and his shoulder as he reaches up to the top shelf to slide his camera away, Rachel off getting dinner for the two of them.

"You kept saying you weren't with her before," Sebastian explains, "but if you didn't drag her to the nearest alcove just to fuck her brains out, I'm going to have to say that you're getting soft there Anderson."

"I didn't just - god, do you always have to be so crude?" Blaine groans, because Sebastian makes it seem like that's all it is. That Rachel's just the closest thing besides his own hand to get off with, and she's not. There's so much more to her, their relationship complex and difficult and even if they haven't talked things through, Blaine knows there's more to them than just fucking around.

"Well, if that's the case," Sebastian laughs from the other end of the phone, "you wouldn't mind giving me her number, would you?"

Blaine does something he hasn't in almost 9 years and hangs up on his best friend, muttering 'asshole' under his breath as he goes to clean up before Rachel gets back.

-:-

"She seems awfully young," Santana says one night a week later as they sit on his rooftop, Rachel disappeared into Manhattan to do whatever it is she does when she's not with Blaine. "Are you sure she's really 20?"

"Of course I'm sure," Blaine lies, the words slipping out easily as he scoffs, and while Santana lifts an eyebrow she doesn't question him further, sipping on her beer as she leans against the balcony, staring out at the Hudson in the distance.

"Because if she's younger, you could jeopardize everything. Your name, your career, your stability. It seems like a lot to risk for hot sex," she continues as if Blaine hasn't just argued for the opposite, and he can feel the squirm of unease settle in low in his stomach, the very thoughts he has been trying to avoid since she came into his life presented far too plainly in front of him.

"Well then it's a good thing she's not," he argues instead, shrugging his shoulders. Santana clucks her tongue at him, but her lips turn into a slight grin at the corners and Blaine lets out the breath he hasn't realized he'd been holding as she lets it slip into her natural smirk, so alike Sebastian's that sometimes he wonders if the two aren't secretly related somewhere along the lines. "Besides, it's about more than just the sex," he adds, "we haven't even-"

"Don't give me that bullshit, Anderson," she scoffs, rolling her eyes in disbelief. "You probably tapped that ass within four hours of meeting her."

"I haven't," he repeats, shaking his head. "It's complicated," he continues, "there are a lot of contributing factors and I actually have feelings for her. I don't want to screw it up."

"You don't want to screw _her_ up," Santana corrects, and he doesn't bother to deny the statement. "Fuck, you're so whipped and you're not even getting laid. Something is seriously wrong with this."

"You're so kind, San," Blaine teases, knocking his shoulder into hers, "how would I ever have gotten through life without you?"

"You wouldn't," she deadpans, "because you would have been left half in a gutter while Sebastian came down some twinks throat and deserted you,"

"Thanks for the reminder," he replies just as dryly, poking his finger into Santana's side and even as she swats his hand away, there's a smile on her face that lets him know he's one of the few who could get away with such a move and keep their balls intact on their body.

"Just be careful, Blaine," she tells him after a few moments, and he can tell she's serious - sincere in a way that still throws him off, her dark eyes locking onto his and he nods, gulping a little heavily and he wants to question how, exactly, Santana knows that Rachel's lying about her age, but that would come too close to admitting something that he'd rather pretend he didn't know she knows about, and he quickly changes the subject to the leggy blonde she's been too busy for him for.

-:-

The city feels too obvious, like they're sitting ducks waiting for someone to realize Blaine's hands travel up Rachel's short skirts far too often, that the model he's stocking quite an extensive portfolio for is technically legal, but just barely so.

It's Santana's words that haunt him as they're curled up on the couch a couple nights later, the _be careful_ whispering through his mind as she giggles at something on the television, her head resting innocently in his lap while his fingers rake through her hair.

"We should go somewhere."

The words fall out before he can stop them, and Rachel looks up at him with her eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression as she pauses flipping through the channels on the television.

"Where would we go?" she asks after a moment, and Blaine doesn't need more than a minute to come up with the answer.

"I have a house in the Hamptons," he promises, a grin spreading over his face as the idea plots itself in his head. "It's my parents, really, but they're spending the summer backpacking across Europe and Cooper is in California trying to sign a contract for a new TV show. No one will find us there."

"I've never been," Rachel says quietly, her teeth running over her bottom lip anxiously.

"It'll be nice. The beach is private, too, so it'll be really secluded," he whispered, trailing his lips across her cheekbone before finding the corner of her lips and pressing gently against them. "Almost like we're in our own little world."

She giggles quietly before he silences her with a soft kiss, the kind that Blaine always thinks he can fall into for hours and never really need to surface once more for air, but she pulls back to sit up properly on the couch before he has the chance to memorize once more the way her top lip tastes and how her teeth seem to always hit the same nerve in his own bottom lip. "Will there be fireworks?" she asks, and he tickles her side for a moment just to listen to her laugh before he nods.

"There's always a big thing for the Fourth at the public beach," he promises, "you can see them perfectly from my house."

"I better get packing then," she grins, bouncing off the couch and nearly running to her room before shooting him a coy smile and disappearing inside of it to prepare.

-:-

Living in Brooklyn isn't too much different than living in Manhattan, and owning a car is still highly impractical. Blaine's sure he's only driven his about four times a year, if that, but it _is_ convenient when he wants to avoid taking the Jitney to the Hamptons, and with the rooftop down on his convertible that his parents bought as a way to bribe him to go to college instead of heading into the world of photography without any preparation, it's even refreshing in the hot July sun.

Rachel's feet are propped up on the dashboard as she sings along to the pop songs on the radio, nothing special or nearly as gorgeous as her own voice is, something Blaine's learned quickly in the short amount of time they've been together. She sings along to everything; the radio, television commercials and theme songs, whatever pops into her head. It's no wonder she moved to New York with a voice like that, and when she sheepishly admits that she's always desired being an actress he's hardly surprised.

He tugs on her braid as she belts along to an old Mariah Carey song, her feet slipping out of her flip flops as she reclines more and the simple white teeshirt she's wearing with her yellow plaid shorts rises slightly to expose the tan skin hidden underneath, the faint mark of a hickey on her side that he has put there two days ago fading but vibrant on her skin.

"How long does it take to get there?" she asks after a few minutes, adjusting the red sunglasses on her nose as she fiddles with the radio to find something else to listen to.

"We're only about twenty minutes out now," Blaine promises, "if I remembered how to get there right."

She laughs at that before turning up the music, the midday sun warm on his skin as the smell of ocean and sand and summer hits him the closer they get to the beach. He remembers sitting in the backseat of his parents car as they drove down from the city when he was younger, Cooper next to him proclaiming that he's going to be the next big thing while Blaine busied himself taking pictures of anything and everything, the two of them dueting to the radio while they're parents forced strained smiles.

It's still better than whatever Rachel's run from, of course, and he swallows down the bitter pill of memories past to focus on the girl who still has far too many years of fun and carefree time to make up for.

She opens all the windows to the house the second they arrive, dropping her bag in the main hallway before flitting around and making herself as comfortable as she has in his apartment back in Brooklyn, Blaine merely chuckling as he brings their stuff to a bedroom upstairs. He deliberated, for a moment, on giving them the pretense of separate rooms but knows she'd never stick to it regardless, that he falls asleep with her head tucked in the crook of his neck more often than not these days, that this is their chance to be themselves, to run free and not have anyone notice or inquire about them.

"Wanna go for a swim?" he asks quietly as he comes up behind her on the back deck, wrapping his arms around her waist while she leans back and rests her head on his shoulder, shielding her eyes from the sun even as clouds started to cover it in the distance.

"Are you going to come with?" she replies, just as quietly even if it is completely unnecessary. There is no one to worry about their voices carrying too, and the waves beating upon the shoreline that stretches for miles beyond his family's house quiets everything else around it. It's the privacy Blaine needs to make peace with what they're doing.

"Of course," he answers, not giving her a second to change her mind before he picks her up, a smile on his own face as she shrieks and attempts to writhe out of his grip. He's much stronger than she is, though, and he manages to carry her all the way down to the sand just at the edge of the water until it is lapping at his toes, Rachel still trying to fight her way free of his arms.

"Put me down right now Blaine Anderson!" she demands, and he can't help but place a small kiss on her forehead as he sets her down in the cold Atlantic ocean, a shiver running through her even in the heat. "You could have at least let me change first," she snaps, but he merely tugs on the string of her bikini poking out over the side of her shorts to remind her that he's far more observant than she gives him credit for, and she sighs in defeat before pulling her shorts down her long legs and throwing them to shore, her shirt following and revealing the entire hot pink bikini he's seen glimpses of all day underneath her translucent shirt, her own hands quickly removing him of his shirt before tugging him deeper in the water.

She squeals and jumps every time a wave crashes down on them, the water freezing and cooling down his system even as she jumps onto his back as a brush of seaweed passes by her. He carries her to water deep enough to almost submerge them, but not quite, diving underneath and shaking his hair out like a wet dog only to hear her laughter as she tries to duck flying pellets of water escaping from his head.

The storm moves in quicker than Blaine expects it to; the sun is out and shining as they splash and wrestle in the ocean one moment and the next grey clouds are covering what had been a vast expanse of blue sky only moments before. The thunder claps just seconds before the rain pours down on them, Rachel worrying her lip between her teeth as he instinctively grabs her and rushes out of the water, knowing that the ocean is no longer safe for them until the storm passes.

They're soaking wet and breathless from running when they crash in his living room, breathless giggles falling out of her before he can bother to stand to turn on the fireplace, warm up the living room growing cold with the change in weather and years of neglect and no use.

"The power goes out easily in storms," he explains as she watches him from the hardwood floors, her hair dripping water even as she tries to tie it in itself to keep it out of the way. "There are flashlights, but I don't know the last time anyone is here to make sure the batteries are good, but the fireplace is always set to go."

"It's romantic," she smiles, looking up at him with such adoration that he can't help but blush because he hasn't even thought about that aspect, too busy just trying to focus on keeping them safe as the thunder rolls louder outside the house.

"I suppose it is," he murmurs, kissing her lightly before reaching behind her to grab a blanket from the couch and wrapping it around her to dry her off. "Although, when we were younger, Cooper used to set it up for us. Far less romantic then."

"I bet you were cute," she says quietly as she curls against his side once he gets the fire roaring, dimming out the sound of the rain crashing against the windows just a tad and even the lightening didn't seem as bright with the flames in front of them. "You and your brother, that is, playing on the beach."

He chuckles and nods, pointing to a picture on the mantelpiece of him and Cooper from the summer he turned ten, Cooper's arm around his neck in a fake chokehold and both sporting smiles wide and bright for their parents behind the camera. "We used to come down every summer," Blaine starts to explain as she stands up to look closer at the picture before her attention is drawn to another, before she's moving around the room to take in the memories that Blaine's half-forgotten in time. "As soon as school let out, we packed up and we'd come down here. My dad usually stayed in the city during the week, and then joined us on the weekend. We'd go out on the boat, take tennis and sailing lessons."

"That sounds fun," she says quietly, running her fingers over a picture of his parents from their wedding. "We went to Italy once, when I is five. I don't remember it much, but I was too involved in dance and theater after I started school to go on any other vacations." He doesn't respond, unused to hearing her talk about her past at all, but a soft smile plays at her lips before she rejoins him in front of the fireplace, linking her fingers with his own as she takes a deep breath. "You've been very patient," she says carefully, "and you haven't pressured me once to tell you why I ran."

"I don't want you running to where you're not at least safe," he admits, pushing back her hair behind her ear as it falls in her face. "I'd rather not know what drove you to me than drive you away."

"In the grand scheme of things," she whispers, "it's not even the worst thing that could happen. I wasn't abused, I wasn't raped -" she takes a deep breath, her tongue running over her bottom lip and he squeezes her hand, letting her know she doesn't have to talk about it yet if she doesn't want to, but the house practically shakes with the power of a large clap of thunder and the power dims and somehow, she gains strength from that instead of running away and using it as an excuse to turn back.

"When I was 14, my fathers were murdered," she explains, her voice still quiet and the words send a shiver down his spine in a way he's not used to from her, chills running through him as his blood turns cold. "Ohio isn't exactly known for its strides in equality, but it's not completely barbaric either. I was involved in extracurriculars, my fathers had an active social group, they were lawyers, and while there was always gossip and looks of disdain, no one ever-"

She took another breath, pausing herself before she could continue. "They didn't even let me go home when it happened. I was forced to move with my birth mother, who didn't want me - never has, I didn't even know who she was before I was being thrown into her house without a choice. I had to move across the state, and watch as she cared for a baby that some high school cheerleader gave up for adoption, someone that isn't even part her, someone she loved more than she'd ever even acknowledged me."

He can hear the way her voice is cracking, how much it upset her and she didn't fight him off as he pulled her into his lap, running his fingers through her hair as she rested her face against his chest. "I couldn't take it, and I had been left enough money to do what I had wanted to since the incident anyways, so I ran. All the way to New York, and I never once regretted it. I blend in, no one can find me if they even bothered to look for me, and I can still try and go after the dreams I had when I was younger."

"Did you ever tell your mom you're okay?" he asks, but the quick shake of her head tells her it's not something she's ever going to do.

"She's not my mom," she snaps, wiping away a tear. "She's Beth's, but - she isn't mine. She never wanted to be and she doesn't get to be."

"It's her loss," he says as she crumples against his shoulder, his hand running up and down her arm to comfort her. "She doesn't know how wonderful you are, what a star you're going to be. Rach, you don't need her. You don't need anyone. Not even me."

"But I have you," she sniffles, her tears staining his skin as she continues to hide her face in his chest, "right?"

"You're always going to have me," he promises, kissing the top of her head, her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips. "Always."

-:-

By the time the lights flicker back on, Rachel is fast asleep in his arms, tear tracks staining her face and the storm dwindling down in the distance, nothing more than a rumble miles away from them. He carries her to the main bedroom, kicking the door open with his feet and laying her gently down on the bed before crawling over her to lay on the other side of her, refusing to let go of her as he thinks about all the things she's been keeping hidden deep down inside.

It isn't the worst story to ever be told, but he knows that the loss of the two most important people in her life mixed with neglection from someone who is supposed to think the sun rises and falls around you leaves a lasting impact, especially on someone who wants to be the center of attention as much as Rachel desires it.

He's dealt with kids who ran away because of abuse, of sexual assault and his heart broke every time he listened to their stories, but he never felt such a rush of closeness, of need to protect and care, and he knows as his fingers play with her tangled hair that he hasn't been lying when he has says this is so much more than just sex, that the connection he felt with her is so much deeper than that. He just hasn't realized how deep it is until now.

That he has somehow fallen in love with a 17 year old runaway he'd hardly known over a month.

The realization is swift and hits him low, somewhere between his chest and his ribcage as it burrows its way in deep and he can hardly breathe but moving away from her to collect himself, his thoughts, to wonder what he's doing - it seems like too high a price, when she could wake up at any point and assume the worst, that he left her as her father's unintentionally did, that he's neglecting her as her horrible mother has, that she isn't rapidly becoming the center of his universe.

She stirs lightly in his arms, seeming to know that he's in the middle of a life-altering crisis, a small "Blaine?" being directed his way as he turns his face towards her.

He can't seem to say it, though, as much as he wants to, and instead simply presses his lips against hers in a silent plea to understand, to know everything that he may admit to himself finally, but can't yet word aloud. It starts off soft, gentle, and when he pulls back to push her hair behind her ears and rest his forehead against her own, he can feel the words threatening to leak out regardless, a war unlike he's never known raging inside of himself.

"Are you okay?" she asks instead, her fingers dancing over his cheekbone as he leans into her touch, her dark brown eyes laced with concern as he smiles widely at her.

"Amazing," he assures her, crashing their lips together once more and this time, it isn't innocent and slow, it's teeth and tongues and lips and Rachel's pulling him on top of her, both of them emotionally exhausted, scared, unsure of what's happening but knowing that no matter what it all means, they need each other.

He can't live without her, the thought is too terrifying, and so he wants to claim her however he can, his teeth dragging across her throat before they catch on the tight skin of her collarbone, pulling on it hard as her back arches into the motion, her fingers raking through his hair as he moves lower on her body, lips sucking on the exposed cleavage while his hands unhook the bathing suit top she's still wearing, removing it quickly so he can take her in his mouth.

She's always so responsive to him, to any little thing he does to her, soft pleas and quiet gasps and her voice is like a symphony as he continues down her stomach, his tongue dragging down her abdomen as he looks up at her with dark eyes, lidded and she whispers his name like a prayer, like he can be the one to save her, and maybe he can. Maybe he can save both of them, he thinks, as he unties the side of her bikini with his teeth, pulling on the strings until she's laid bare underneath him, his hands gripping her thighs to part them before he lets one duck between her legs, parting her folds to slide his finger inside of her, feeling how wet and tight she is for him while his lips seek her own.

"I want-" she gasps, her words faltering as he adds a second finger along the first, curling them deep inside her until her eyes close and she has to bite on her bottom lip to keep from screaming his name, letting it drop from her lips, and he pulls back for a moment to hear her say it, needing her to even though he's pretty sure he knows exactly what she wants, because he wants it too.

"What?" he groans, her hands scrambling to rid him of his own clothes as quickly as she can, her lips marking him now that he's let go of his hold over her for a few moments, "what do you want, Rachel?"

"You," she purrs, her teeth catching on his jaw and he has to close his eyes for a moment before she elaborates, "I want all of you, Blaine."

"Are you sure?" he breathes, because he needs her to be, needs her to be over 100% certain before he does this, because he can't take it back. But she nods, handing over her virginity on a silver platter to him, and he knows that if he isn't already, he's officially locked into her life in a special way forever. That there's not a chance she'll ever forget him, and it fills his chest until he feels like he can't breathe, her own breath halted as she looks up at him with wide eyes, clearly worried she's gone too far.

"Yes," she promises, the word small and quiet but her eyes are telling him that she wants this, her body and her soul almost seems to be calling to his own, and he nods, kissing her feverantly before settling between her legs, their kiss slowing into something gentle and tender as he lines himself up and pushes inside of her, slowly, an inch at a time until her eyes are wrenched shut and her nails are drawing blood on his biceps, her entire body tight as she tries to adjust to the intrusion, to him.

It only takes a couple minutes before she can relax, Blaine feeling like every breath is a fight he's losing when all he wants to do is thrust inside of her hard, fast, quick, anything to feel the way her walls contract around him, squeezing his cock for dear life, and it isn't long before they're swept away in a haze of sweat and skin and half-met kisses that end in strangled moans.

And he knows that this isn't going to be the best for her, that it's supposed to be painful, but her voice is melodic in his ear as she recites his name, her face shoved into his shoulder and he can't seem to control himself, her own name slipping from his tongue as he pleads with her, _please, Rachel_, and when they come it's together, and he's sure even if it was still storming it wouldn't be enough to cover her cry, his own murmurs hidden away in her hair as he stills inside of her, her entire body wrapped tightly around him until she goes nearly limp from exhaustion.

"Are you okay?" he asks quietly, pulling out of her and kissing away the wince that hardly crosses her features, brushing his fingers over her brow as she nods at him, sleepy and sated and completely content to do nothing more than return to his embrace, something he's more than willing to offer her.

-:-

She surprises him with waffles in bed the next morning, her grin wide as she curls up into his side and steals his strawberries, peppering small kisses along his jawline every so often.

"Thank you," is all she whispers, even as he assures her she has nothing to thank him for, she just smiles in response and steals another strawberry. "So, how long are we staying down here?" she asks to divert the conversation, his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her close.

"A few days at minimum," he answers with a shrug, "a couple weeks at most, I would assume. I don't have to be back in the city for any shoots for a while."

"And Santana and Sebastian?"

"They're more than capable of handling themselves," Blaine assures her, kissing the side of her head. "The only thing I'm concerned about paying attention to is you."

Her smile practically illuminates the room, the blush that crawls over her skin bright pink and before he can even put two and two together, his breakfast is long forgotten and long legs are straddling his lap as he falls into her once more.

-:-

"Where are we going?" she asks as he drives them out of town to a small thrift store he knows of. His mom used to take him to it when he was younger, and he hated it - he wanted to be on the beach, playing around with Cooper or out on the boat with his dad, but it's the kind of thing that he thinks Rachel will like. It's kitschy and vintage and they've barely left the house in three days.

"We need a day out," Blaine shrugs as he turns the car into a parking lot, the strip of old stores and restaurants quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. "As much as I love staying in the house with you, you're going to need fresh air eventually."

She smirks at him before linking their arms, following his lead to the store he thought about first thing that morning. For all of her efforts to dress as old as possible, to give off the illusion that she's at least the 20 year old she claims to be, her white eyelet romper almost seems to highlight the innocence she lost way before he came along, It doesn't help that she finds a new pair of Lolita glasses, pairing them with a giant hat that hides half her face, her red lips pursed in a kiss she blows to him while her flip flops smack against the cool concrete of the open store.

He can feel the stare of the store clerk, how the older woman seems to crawl under his skin just by watching the two of them as Rachel tries on other hats, switching them around from a beret to a bucket hat, giggling while he tries his hardest to pay attention solely to her. He left the city to avoid glances like this, because while Rachel's legal, she's still only 17 and an 11 year age gap seems like a bigger deal when one of the parties can't even legally drink yet.

"Are you okay?" she asks him after a few minutes, frowning beneath the bright blue pill box cap she's found, a white veil connected to it covering her chocolate brown eyes and it settles something inside him, the fear and terror that someone is going to find out what they're doing and jeopardize his career, his life, for this girl.

He pushes a stray curl behind her ear, ducking down to brush his lips against her cheek before he nods. "I'm good," he promises. "You'll have to stop asking me that all the time."

"You'll have to stop looking like the world is falling apart then," she retorts, but there's a small smile on her face and she drops the hat back on a shelf she picked it up from before turning down an aisle, beckoning for him to join her. "You realize that this place is full of great props, right?" she asks as she fiddles with an old fashioned phone, and he stares at her in surprise, because he rarely actually uses props. He lets his models speak for the photograph, using the backdrop and scenery and their beauty - natural in Rachel's case, made up in most others - to hold the viewers attention.

"Hold on," he says, and she pauses mid-spin on the dial up phone to watch him as he darts back to the hat she's just deposited, fitting it perfectly on her head and while he doesn't have a camera on him, he does have his phone, and he snaps a quick picture for posterity. "Are you saying you're getting bored of sitting gorgeously for me? You want something more to do?" he jokes as he looks at the picture, her smile wide and bright and completely opposing the dark eyeliner and lipstick covering her face.

"I think it'd be fun," she shrugs, turning back to play with something new. "And - classic. Like in the 50's, when things were simple."

"When I'd be burned at the stake for being with you," he jokes, Rachel rolling her eyes while flipping through a magazine from the era in question, faded and dim but still readable enough to make out what it's about. "Maybe we should," he finally agrees, ideas starting to form in his head. "We can make it a whole series, and you'd, of course, be the model. We could do you up in different outfits, professions that women used to have, bring in modern elements to it…"

He trailed off self-consciously at her stare, her smile secretive and almost all-knowing before she kisses his cheek.

"Sounds perfect," she nods, "let's get started on it."


End file.
